Collar
by dreamerchaos
Summary: Sequel to 'Willing Prisoner'. Megatron approves of Optimus' lates upgrades...or should he say, downsizing. MegatronxOptimus PrimexPerceptor. STICKY.


Title: Collar

Sequel to 'Willing Prisoner'.

Author: dreamerchaos

Fandom: IDW Universe, 'Escalation'.

Rating: MATURE. Dubious consent. STICKY

Pairing: MegatronxPerceptor. MegatronxOptimus Prime. Optimus PrimexPerceptor. MegatronxOptimus PrimexPerceptor.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro.

Summary: Altering things quite a bit. Adding Perceptor to the team of Autobots on Earth. Optimus Prime wasn't given time to recover from his wounds after Megatron's attack in Brasnya. Now that the Prime has successfully undergone repairs and the removal of the Matrix, Optimus is no longer in high command. Now he's another prisoner alongside his fellow Autobots who must bow to the victor.

------------

Released from stasis lock, Optimus reacted accordingly to the Decepticon medic looming over him. Exploding off the berth, he wrapped his hands around the startled mech's throat, trying to wrench or tumble the Decepticon to the ground―

But…why did his hands appear to be smaller? Before he could have easily flipped the smaller Decepticon through the air and across the length of the room, instead he grappled with the cursing medical officer. Their hands wove together, struggling to overpower his counterpart.

"Hold _still_!" The Constructicon growled, hooking his ankle around Optimus', tripping and tumbling his patient. Immediately Scrapper and Longhaul burst into the room, dog piling the struggling Autobot while Hook spits curses, nursing his sore throat with one hand.

"You're fortunate that Lord Megatron wants you online!" Hook snaps, "But by the Pit, I have no recollection why, since our **Prime **is no longer worthy of such title nor any further mercy, given that the Matrix is now within Decepticon hands."

Pinned by Longhaul and Scrapper's combined weight, Optimus manages to squirm around to where he can lay his hands upon the glass of his chassis. Cerulean optics flaring wide as he realizes, finally, that there is a hollow ache where the Matrix should lay. His Spark feeling naked, the entirety of his frame feeling as if its essence has been scooped out, the remaining shattered structure left abandoned without the weight of the gold and silver crest.

"Get him on his pedes!" Hook orders his brothers to help him with the patient, "Lord Megatron wishes to converse with our patient, and he is most ill when left waiting. Take _Optimus_ to the auditorium hall."

While each Constructicon holds one of his arms behind his back, Scrapper and Longhaul march the prisoner out of the Med Bay, Optimus digging his pedes into the smooth steel floor, but he is unsuccessful in slowing the two 'bots.

"Hook is in a bad mood." Longhaul mutters.

Scrapper coughs a sharp laugh, "He despises wasting his time on patients when he wants to work on his projects. _Especially _when his patient onlines and tries to throttle his Spark from his chassis."

Optimus' knee joints lock as he straightens, and he pushes fiercely against the two mechs' holds, "Where are the other Autobots?" He demands, "What have you done with them?" He will fight every step that it takes for the Decepticons to drag him to hold audience with Megatron; Optimus will not take silence for an answer, not when it comes to his soldiers and their safety.

"Don't get all worked up." Scrapper gruffly redirects the Autobot's attention while he and Longhaul wrestle to shove him forward, practically carrying the prisoner between them since he is so unwilling to take another step, "I'm sure Lord Megatron will be gracious enough to inform you of their status…and **yours** as well."

When the three mechs reach the massive doors that obviously mark the illustrious auditorium hall, the wide frames slide open with a swift hush of pressurized air.

Scrapper and Longhaul toss their patient through the doors, Optimus stumbling and falling onto his hands and knees. "He's all yours, Boss!" The Constructicons bow their helms low as the doors snap shut, sealing Optimus inside.

Optimus keeps his optics trained onto the floor. Fingers clenching, dragging the faint line of grooves upon the gleaming surface.

"Aaah…" The tall silver mech stands with his back to his guest, wrists crossed behind his back as he contemplates a three-dimensional image laid out upon a video screen, ruby optics following the squad of Seekers razing the large organic settlement, pounding the buildings into dust, "You honor me with your presence, Prime. But…perhaps it is more suited that I refer to you as Optimus, since your previous title is _blasphemous_, considering that you no longer bear the mantle of the Matrix."

"_Megatron," _Optimus curls the name along his glossa, sneering the Decepticon's designation, "Why have you bothered to keep me online, if I am no longer a challenge?"

"Is it not so obvious?" The warlord twists his gaze away from the view screen, raking his glowing optics across the kneeling prisoner, "I wish to see for myself the changes that you have undergone."

Optimus' fuel tank shudders, the Decepticon larger than life, somehow so much bigger and menacing now that he was without his Matrix. While Megatron's frame remained untouched from the skirmish in Brasnya, Optimus had undergone several…unsettling changes besides the loss of the Matrix.

The least worrying was the loss of the smoke stacks that had rested like tall pillared crests upon his shoulders. Those ornaments were not a great loss to him.

What bothered the Autobot leader more was the fact that his frame seemed to have _shrunk_, shifting into a schematic not at all dissimilar to when he was Orion Pax, working as a dockworker within the massive warehouses and ship ports. His shoulders were not as wide or heavy, chassis narrowing into smoother silver lines of his waist. Legs less bulky, _everything _felt as if he had lost several hundred pounds of armor.

Megatron has also noticed the great change. The Autobot losing a couple of meters in height, his frame missing a majority of his armor, left with only the most rudimentary of defenses on his blue, red, and silver metal body. The only piece that remained from his designation as _Prime _was the ever present battle mask, disguising the Autobot's expression, but never completely hiding the dull horror and confusion as Optimus assesses the changes to his body.

"Where…where is it? The Matrix…" Clutching a hand to his chassis, Optimus rises to his feet, but does not make a step in the warlord's direction. Shaking with frustration and agony at the loss of his mantle and the perverse changes that his frame had undergone without his permission, _"What have you done?!"_

"The mantle is…safe." Megatron considers his words wisely. Not fearing the Autobot's reaction, by no means, but he is overly cautious about informing the mech about the whereabouts of such an invaluable trophy, "Do not concern yourself with something that is now completely outside your control."

"You had no right―"

"…No. Right?" Megatron takes a step forward. Optimus halts the beginning of his tirade, taking a compulsive step back at the mech's menacing movement, "No right!" Megatron's shout is loud enough to nearly bring the ceiling down around them.

Optimus gasps, crying out as the mech catches him by one of his sensitive audio antennas, the metal grinding against his helm, paintwork streaking the warlord's dark palm as he _twists_, snarling forth, "I. Am. **Megatron**. Your Autobot laws of conduct have no bearing on me!"

"S-stop!" Optimus' hands beat as useless as a sparkling's, the disappearance of his usual weight and force of attack leaving him utterly helpless as the Decepticon snaps a hand over the Autobot leader's battle mask, fingers burrowing into the metal like hot iron, slowly twisting and breaking long cracks through the protective metal while the hidden latches shriek within their mounts, trying to hold the battle mask in place.

"I find this mask distasteful to look upon." Megatron says, just as he rips the battle mask free, the shearing metal echoed by the mech's shocked cry, Optimus tearing his helm free from Megatron's grip, clutching at the slender cuts left on his face from the brutal remove of his mask.

Megatron negligently tosses the ruined plate of metal over his shoulder, "Much better." He purrs, watching as the Autobot trembles, clutching his face.

"What is the point of this?!" Optimus' vents rattle, the Sparkless gesture of removing his final piece of armor, his last vestige of his duty as Prime, leaving him shattered, "If you are going to deactivate me, then do it! Stop wasting both of our time!"

"Oh, Optimus," Megatron sighs, shaking his head in pity, "As if it were truly that easy."

Optimus' optics blink, watching the mech with a wary gaze as he backs away, back strut thumping against the sealed doors, fingers needlessly scrabbled at the seams, as if freedom truly lay at his back.

Megatron notices. A dark smile lighting his features, "What has become of your mechs, you wonder?" The Decepticon leader chuckles, slowly pacing in front of the Autobot, making every step count as he moves one step to the left, then three steps to the right, then turn, feeling the truck's optics follow, "Your soldiers are now mine, suiting my every whim. Boons given to my own soldiers for their efforts in conquest over your squad."

"…n-no.."

"_Yesssss." _Megatron purrs, "If I remember correctly, the Constructicons are enjoying Ratchet's company; but I can not satisfy your curiosity about his feelings on the matter, since the gestalt in quite territorial of their ambulance."

Megatron taps his chin with his forefinger, grinning as he considers the Autobots that he has deemed worthwhile in noting their status, "Hmmm..and what about your second in command? Skywarp and Thundercracker don't appear to be discouraged with his company. And the saboteur is suitable entertainment for Runabout and Runamuck. And your little scientist, Perceptor…" His optics glint, but at Optimus' wondering expression, he then waves his hand in absent dismissal, "The others await their fate, and until the rest of my fleet arrives on this mud-ball organic planet, they are properly ensconced inside their cells."

"What of me, then?"

"You…" Megatron cups the Autobot's cheek, leaning close to the shorter mech. Raking his lips over the stunned leader's, teasing the unsteady tremble by flicking his glossa in between the seam, "I will add you alongside my dear little pet. You have no notion of how long I have entertained the image of you and him together."

"N-No!" Optimus cries out as his wrists are captured, kicking and twisting within the larger mech's grip, "I will not bow to such demands…Not from the likes of you!"

"Your master commands you," Megatron shoves his chassis against the Autobot's, effectively trapping the mech between a wall of silver metal and the barricaded frame at his back, "You would deny me?"

"Yes!"

"At the cost of your…friends?"

Optimus stills, his hands pressed against the door, hanging on each side of his helm, "…What are you implying?"

Megatron traces his thumb up and down the smooth arched line of the truck's wrists, earning a weak shudder and tremble, Optimus' hands flexing helplessly at the probing gesture, "How many other squads are floating throughout the nearest galaxy? Unaware of your squad's fate? It will be so easy to launch a surprise assault…imagine the prisoners that my soldiers would attain. Many of my mechs will be impatient and eager to reward themselves with a warm frame and a ready berth…If I do not take the measure to decree that prisoners must remained untouched, imagine what your young, unwary soldiers will face? Your lieutenants and commanders…'facing a mech or femme of such status would heat any soldier's plating."

"Stop it!"

But Megatron ignores his plea. "They would cry out for you. Their Prime. Save us! Why won't you answer our hails for rescue and backup? Where is Optimus Prime! Has he abandoned us?"

Optimus hangs from his grip, voice shuddering under his breath, "…please stop…"

"And you will be forced to listen to every voice, every frantic message as they pour throughout the communications systems. Knowing that you could have stopped this. You could have saved them. But alas, you are too good to waste yourself for the sake of your soldiers…Primus forbid you force yourself into such a position."

"…You only want me to do this in order to have me submit to you in a final gesture of ultimate surrender." Optimus laughs brokenly, vents rattling in misery, "Twisting such a glorious union between two mechs into an instrument of revenge."

"I look at it as the greatest compliment." Megatron disagrees, "My finest opponent, sharing my company and my berth. A worthy combatant on the field…" The Decepticon grins, "And on his _knees_."

Optimus' silver facial plates flush with a warm wave of energon beneath the dermal layer, "If…if I do this…you will allow me to see the rest of my soldiers? To ensure their well-being?"

"Under close supervision."

"…And you swear that no harm will come to any other Autobot?"

"Only if they raise a blaster or a weapon against a Decepticon; but my soldiers will have _some_ restraint. I am never amused when invaluable prisoners turn up bleeding and useless, tossed into a cell and left to rust."

Optimus mulled over the Decepticon's answer. As much as it left a bitter taste in his mouth, he could, as of now, find no fault in Megatron's offer. Only his dignity would suffer the most…

At the very least, Optimus could grit his teeth and bear the warlord's touch and whim, as long as it ensured his friends' protection.

"…As you wish." Optimus sighs, bowing his helm, "I will defer to your command, Megatron."

To his surprise, the Decepticon's hands tighten painfully, "You will address me properly, Optimus." He warns.

Optimus' optics blink. Slow to catch on, but then he realizes his error, "…My apologies, _Lord_ Megatron."

Megatron graces his admission by smoothing his fingertips over the line of the graceful, noble features, Optimus' facial structure a mirror image to the towering statues of ivory mechanized seraphs that had stood as benevolent sentries on either side of the gold towers marking the halls of Primus. "Very good…" He presses an affectionate kiss to the shorter mech's forehead in reward.

"Before we continue…" Megatron orders him to remain still by raises his hand to halt the Autobot, reaching towards his forearm and revealing an unremarkable vial, a heady ruby glow emitted through the opaque glass. The warlord shakes the thin receptacle, stirring the crimson mixture, "Drink this." He commands.

"What is it?" Optimus holds his hands out to accept the vial, surprised by the weight of such a tiny thing, the liquid far denser than he first anticipated.

"Something to ensure that our exchange will be most satisfying for everyone." Megatron answers cryptically, "Now…_Drink_, Optimus."

The Autobot thumbs the lid free, olfactory receptors analyzing the heady scent, reminiscent to the spice known as cinnamon, amongst the organics. Raising the vial to his lips, Optimus tilts his helm back, the ruby concoction disappearing as he swallows the mixture, a strange, icy caress racing down his throat following the slide of the liquid.

Megatron grasps his mandible when Optimus lowers the empty vial. Understanding the Decepticon's intentions, Optimus willingly opens his mouth, allowing the warlord to ascertain not a drop remains, that the Autobot truly has ingested the mixture. "Excellent." Megatron takes the empty vial from his unresisting grip, returning it to subspace.

"Now follow me." Wrapping a hand around Optimus' wrist, Megatron keys in the code to unlock the doors, pulling his subdued companion to follow. Optimus is secretly thankful that there is not mech ― Decepticon or Autobot in nature ― within sight to watch his passive march beside the Decepticon Lord.

------------

Perceptor mewls and lies stretched upon the berth, hands trembling as he scrapes his fingers down the smooth bed. Face flushed from the warm flow of energon, he fumbles weakly for some frayed semblance of control, every inch of his frame throbbing in reckless agony. He locks his thighs together, whimpering as pale lilac lubricant trickles between his legs, droplets slipping between his plating, port walls throbbing in want.

He curses his folly for trusting Megatron! Whatever the Decepticon had given him, that ruby concoction has stolen his mental faculties. His processor tilts and spins, equilibrium lost as he rubs and thrusts his chassis against the berth, seeking some sort of stimulation to sooth the heady desire racing through him.

The scientist's helm rises weakly as he hears the doors to the warlord's chamber open. Recognizing Megatron as he steps inside, but the microscope's gaze halts on the intruder. "W-who…" The mech is vaguely familiar, the paintwork stimulating his processor with some obtuse memory.

"_Perceptor?" _The mech's frame is noticeably smaller, lacking a great deal of armor, and his smoke stacks and battle mask are gone, but the microscope recognizes his voice. Recognition hitting him like a brick wall.

"O-Optimus Prime?!"

"What have you done to him?" Optimus demands, turning towards Megatron and ripping his wrist free.

Megatron smirks at the Autobot's indignation, "I could not leave my pet alone. He does miss my company terribly so. I only gave him something to drink while he waited for my return."

Perceptor watches as Optimus' gaze flickers to the empty vial resting innocuously on the small table at the head of the berth. The sight triggering his offense to rise even higher, "You _drugged_ him? And what you ordered me to ingest―"

"A curious mixture that Mixmaster stumbled upon," Megatron grins, recalling the Constructicon's exhaustion ― and perverse amusement ― when he slipped the mixture into his brothers' energon rations, and the ensuing interface session that left the chemist's energy levels drained when the mixture's effects finally wore off.

Megatron leaves Optimus to stand, gaping like a fish on dry land, settling to sit upon the side of the berth. Leaning down and nuzzling his pet, while Perceptor mewls in weak frustration, "It is a stimulant that lowers a Cybertronian's inhibitions. Rousing their systems, but keeping them just beyond the reach of overload unless they are continuously, and properly addressed. Apparently any mech who ingests the concoction can not achieve overload through self-stimulation; they must undergo interface with a partner, otherwise they will be left in agony for nearly one solar cycle until the effects wear off."

"M-m-Megatron!" Perceptor scrabbles at the seated warlord, crawling up the mech's broad chassis, digging his fingers in between the wide plates, "P-please! I'm burning…I'm b-burning up…" The scientist whimpers, rubbing against the Lord's frame, gasping when Megatron growls in approval, running his hand down the microscope's back, clenching his hand upon Perceptor's aft, rocking the eager, trembling mech against him.

Still standing at the doorway, Optimus wobbles on his pedes, clutching at his chassis. His breath a broken rattle, an unexpected wave of heat racing up throughout his torso. He whimpers softly in dawning realization when his interface array throbs between his legs. Optimus slides down the wall, his lower limbs giving out as the stimulant begins its assault on his sensory network. "Y-You slagger.." Optimus moans, wrapping his arms around his frame, trembling against the frigidness of the wall.

Megatron fondles Perceptor's interface plating, turning the scientist around until the mech straddles the berth on his hands in knees. Perceptor trembles fiercely, looking over his shoulder in wide-optic wonder as Megatron heaves his large frame onto the berth behind him, "Do not resist, Optimus." The warlord growls into the scientist's audio, using his greater bulk to spread the red and cobalt mech upon the berth to his liking. Hands wrapping around the shivering mech's waist, rocking his cod piece in between the spread thighs, dragging a sharp cry from his partner. Perceptor's helm pressed into his folded forearms, the scientist thrusting back against the Decepticon, the plating over his port immediately snapping open as he rubs back against his berth partner, "Try to enjoy yourself. The show will be quite entertaining, especially when you decide to join in."

"AAAH!" Perceptor shrieks in static and stuttered Cybertronian when Megatron desists in tormenting him. Mounting the moaning scientist, stuttering a fierce growl of his own when the wet vice clenches around him.

Optimus presses his face into his knees, cheeks burning and cable and port throbbing in tempo with the slap of hips against thigh, Perceptor whimpering and moaning as his partner steadily splits him apart. An abstract art piece painting his draped thighs as lubricant spills forth from Megatron's thrusts, the copious lilac liquid a cold bane against the microscope's scalding hot plating. "Ooooh.." Perceptor mewls, thrusting back in sharp spurts, tossing his helm against Megatron's shoulder, his hands pinned to the berth when Megatron's larger black fists press them down, lacing their fingers together, "L-Lord Megatronnnnn―"

The Autobot leader shudders as desire settles upon him, drowning him, ripping him under like riptide. He whimpers when his port throbs, leaking a wash of lavendar lubricant, a few drops already beginning to trickle down his curled thighs.

"_Oppptimuuss." _The rolling summons drags his helm up to rise shakily. Megatron looking over his shoulder at the hunkered mech, sneering in delight when the Autobot's facial plating flushes even hotter, "Come here." Megatron commands.

Optimus moans, shaking his helm weakly.

"_Optimus."_ The mech warns.

Whimpering, his legs barely able to help push him onto his pedes, Optimus stumbles to stand upright. Knees knocking together as he drags his pedes, moving drunkenly towards the writhing scientist and the pumping gun-former.

"Lay down on the berth." Megatron orders and Optimus slowly complies, his processor sifting through a fog of want and confusion, moving in slow motion as he slides to curl alongside the two mechs. The berth easily large enough for all three to lounge, without their combined weight buckled the metal frame.

"Look at him, Optimus." Megatron growls, spearing the microscope with a thrust, Perceptor's helm bobbing with the hard invasion, "Isn't he _glorious_? Don't you want to devour him from the outside in?" The Decepticon purrs, yanking Perceptor back, forcing him onto his knees. Weaving his arms around the scientist's chassis, binding his arms across his microscope tray, his whispers into the mech's audio horn, "You want this so badly, don't you, Perceptor? You're so _wet _and tight…so eager for me to fill you…"

"AA..aaah!" Perceptor cries, gasping as the warlord whispers lewdly into his audio receptors.

"Isn't Optimus an attractive specimen?" Megatron leers at the semi-truck, shoving Perceptor forward until the smaller mech straddles the stunned, frozen Autobot leader.

"Y-Y-Yes!"

"Show Optimus how much you want him," Megatron scrapes his denta up the arch of Perceptor's audio. Slowing his pace to pump leisurely in and out, his pet mewling and thrusting back in a weak attempt to hold Megatron's cable within the cradle of his port.

Optimus can't be certain who reaches for whom first. His hands caress Perceptor's flushed cheeks, the microscope nuzzling his trembling palms, "Optimusss," The smaller Autobot sighs, sprawled across the truck's chassis.

Optimus gasps, whimpering at the heat pouring off the writhing mech. "Perceptor!" The leader curls his hands around the scientist's shoulders, condensation dabbing their lips, a scant space of inches separating them.

Megatron initiates the kiss, curling his hand across the back of Optimus' helm. The Decepticon moaning at the sight of the two Autobots locked together, Perceptor mewling into the lip-lock. Optimus gasps, glossa flicking between their mouths.

Perceptor thrusts forward, arching against Optimus' broader chassis. Codpieces rubbing, the scientist bracing his elbows on either side of his leader's helm. Megatron's hands returning to rest on his hips, pistoning thick silver thighs, humping against Perceptor's posterior, the Lord's glossa hungrily laving his lips as his cable disappears to plunge into the mech's depths, reappearing and then to dive in once more.

"Mmph!" Optimus moans as Megatron's momentum pushes Perceptor harder, their codpieces scrapping together. His interface plating hardly slowing the flood of lubricant spilling from his unlocked port, the plating retracted when the leader begins helplessly rocking against Perceptor's cable.

Megatron snarls, groping and manhandling Optimus to spread his thighs open wide. The semi-truck's optics flaring nova-white when Megatron's next thrust pushes Perceptor's cable into the well of the red, white, and blue mech's port.

Optimus wails sharply, clenching his thighs around Perceptor's waist, hands alternating between tugging at the scientist's biceps and Megatron's pistoning shoulders. "Ooooh! Mmm! T-there!" The Autobot leader moans, chin lolling across his collar strut, breath settling in a misted circle upon the berth as his helm tosses left and right.

Perceptor can not control his body, Megatron his puppet master as he thrusts into the microscope, inducing the smaller mech to plunge into the moaning Autobot leader. Perceptor mewls and writhes, optical glass spattered with stars of white as he collapses, overload finally within his grasp after so long left writhing and panting against the lonely berth while Megatron was away.

Overload sank its teeth into him, snarling and hurling him into stasis as his systems are overcharged with the flux of overload. His optics pitched into black, the scientist dropping into Optimus' arms like a broken marionette.

"Perceptor!" Optimus feels his body howl with the loss, but his processor manages to wrangle forth rational thought as he coils his arms tighter around the mech's slack frame.

"Poor pet." Megatron manages to wrestle the unconscious mech free from Optimus' embrace, reluctantly separating himself from the red and cobalt frame, curling Perceptor within his arms and carefully stretching the offlined mech on the berth, the scientist curled on his side, a fist tucked under his chin, forehead pressed to the wall of the berth, "We wore him out." Megatron kisses those slack lips, nuzzling his recharging pet, rubbing his fingertips in the mixture of oil and lubricants that pool between Perceptor's thighs.

Optimus soothes his internal worries by pressing the back of his hand against Perceptor atop his chassis, assuring himself with the thrum of the scientist's Spark pulsing strong.

Optimus' optics blink in surprise as Megatron looms above him, the Autobot's thighs unconsciously spreading in welcome as the Decepticon slides in between, "More?" He gasps, feeling the rigid length of Megatron's cable bump along the inside of his thigh. The Decepticon not appearing worn out in the least compared to poor Perceptor and the drugged mixture he had absorbed, "Aren't you satisfied?"

"Quite the opposite," Optimus cries out as Megatron thrusts, the larger mech seeming to split him open wide, "I found that the sight of you two together was an intoxicating combination, not unlike the blend you submitted to consume."

Optimus moans, the mentioned drug still pumping through his capillaries. He threads his arms around Megatron's neck, using his grip to brace and allow his hips to pump in tempo with the Decepticon's thrusts. "Y-Yes…oooh.." The Autobot mewls into the domineering kiss as Megatron attempts to swallow the pressurized atmosphere from his chassis. His helm thumping once against the broad muzzle of the mech's fusion cannon as Megatron curls above him, fiercely pumping his hips, bodies a mesh of moans and growls, Optimus' body thrumming so badly that he sobs every time the cable abandons him, even if only for a few spare inches.

"You want it so bad, don't you?" Megatron rasps forth a bark of laughter, "What a sight you make. If only I could capture this image and have it possess an ounce of this feeling."

Optimus wriggles and sharp, racketing cries follow as the Lord continues to growl sordid suggestions and promises into his audio. The Autobot's grip curls paint off Megatron's hip as he clutches onto the mech in warning. "I-it's…I'm going to―" He throws his helm back, vocoder rattling, marking his fall and tumble down the precipice as overload shakes him about between its maw and then hurls him into the abyss.

The Autobot groans steady and low, hips thrusting feebly as he continues to milk the last tattered, lagging traces of lightning that rattles through him, his port clenching and releasing upon Megatron's cable as Optimus releases a sigh of satisfied bliss. The molten heat that burned like magma throughout his cables and systems finally beginning to wane.

But Megatron is not quite through with him. The Decepticon continues, pumping his cable into his berth mate, slow and comfortable in chasing his overload. Enjoying the warm frame and wet mouth that welcome him as he settles upon the mech, groping and fondling Optimus' lips with the slender, muscled invader of his glossa.

When overload does pounce, Megatron snarls into Optimus' mouth, the tremble rattling the Autobot's denta. Optimus moans and shivers in another backwash of ecstasy as the black oil fills him, and then he wiggles and a small frown of confusion paints his features when the Decepticon's cable does not release and retract. The layered rings expanding, securing Megatron snug and tight, the Decepticon purring in satisfaction as he drapes himself atop the supine Autobot.

It is well over two breems before Optimus' frame loses the last of the shakes that rattle him, the effects of the stimulant finally filtered through his repair systems. Another three breems before Megatron releases him, Optimus moaning as the locked cable releases, the thick slide of oil that follows the retracting cable making the Autobot grimace, the excess of lubricant and fluids leaving him feeling sticky in places and pleasantly stiff in other regions.

Megatron sprawls on the berth like a lazy lion, rolling onto his back between the two Autobots, purring and dragging his offlined pet against his chassis, pulling Optimus' slack frame against his other side, the semi-truck already beginning the first stages of recharge, optics only gleaming a scant pinpoint of cerulean as he struggles to remain online.

The Decepticon Lord chuckles as his berth mates nestle against him, seeking the heat of his frame. Perceptor's leg hooked over his knee, and Optimus' curled fist pressed upon his chassis.

He certainly wouldn't grow tired of this arrangement.

END

Author's note: 12 pages in one day…That wore me out! Woooo! *fans self at the smut* Now sleepy time for me…


End file.
